Anything for You
by Dawnfire11
Summary: "I've never really had a Thanksgiving before... I don't really want one, either."


**A/N: Despite the fact that Nanowrimo is coming to a close and I'm behind, it's Thanksgiving and this story idea just wouldn't get out of my head. **

**It's probably been done before, but I needed to write it because it's been clogging my brain. I hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters. **

**Warning: Adorableness, cute brotherly interactions, fluffy feels...**

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><p><strong><span>Anything for You <span>**

"Hey, Dean?" Sam asks, pausing and looking up from his laptop, where an article about local witch lore is pulled up.

Dean is sitting on the couch across the room, sharpening one of his knives.

"Today is Thanksgiving... maybe we should do something..." Sam continues.

He has been kind of afraid to ask, has been putting it off for a while now. His older brother never reacted well to this kind of stuff, always pushing away the idea of family traditions and holidays. It has been especially bad ever since Dad had died.

Dean hadn't celebrated Dad's birthday that year, changing the subject whenever it was brought up. He had actually stormed out at one point, when Sam had tried to convince him to at least buy a little slice of cake. At the end of the day, his older brother had come home drunk, smelling like cheap beer and vomit.

That had been a fun experience.

"I've never really had a Thanksgiving before," Dean says, bringing Sam out of his thoughts. "I don't really want one, either."

"What?" the younger man asks incredulously, his laptop nearly dropping off his lap. "What do you mean?"

"I mean what I said, Sam," Dean replies, eyes staring down at the floor. "I can't remember the last time I had a real Thanksgiving... It was before Mom died."

Sam slams his laptop closed, setting it down on the hotel bed beside his leg. "Well, that has to change today," Sam responds. "Jess and I had little feasts together every year... One time I invited friends over and then they invited friends and soon, we had over a dozen people squeezed into my tiny apartment... We have to have a feast."

Dean shakes his head. "No, Sam. We are working a case right now! We have no time for that!"

His hand slips and he slices his finger against the sharp edge of the knife, cursing as pain bites at his skin. He holds his hand up, drops of red blood dripping onto his jeans.

"I'm going to go and interview the vic's cousin," Dean mutters under his breath, walking out the door and slamming it shut. His hand still burned and his head felt a little strange.

The impala glistens in the afternoon sunlight and he opens the door, slipping inside his baby and turning it on. The engine purrs to life, making the corners of his mouth turn up in a small smile.

"Hey, baby," Dean says, pulling out of the motel parking lot.

He rolls the windows down and puts the radio on, his fingers tapping a steady rhythm against the steering wheel.

It's not that he didn't appreciate Sam's efforts. But he just didn't want to think about Mom or Dad or happy family traditions.

As he drives down the empty highway, he can't help but think about the last "Thanksgiving" he had with Dad and Sam, a few years after Mom died.

It was one of the last family things that Dad had ever tried to do for them, back when he had still cared about keeping the family together, back when he hadn't been completely consumed by revenge.

His dad had gone to the store and bought them each their favorite food. At the time, Sammy had loved chocolate whipped creme and he had wanted cherry pie. So their Thanksgiving feast had been Dad's steak and chocolatey cherry pie- not your traditional feast.

But Sammy had loved it and he hadn't complained that he got to eat a whole pie by himself- despite the stomachache he had later.

Before that, he could only remember the smell of turkey in the oven and Mom walking through the house with her apron on.

He exits the highway, taking a left at the nearest light and speeding down the road. He sighs, turning up the music.

Now, Sam wants him to try and act like a normal family when in fact, nothing about them was normal. He just can't bring himself to pretend. Not since Dad died. Maybe not even since Mom...

He pulls up to the house, parking his baby and sitting there for a moment, listening to the loud guitar riffs and leaning back in his seat.

It's days like these that he misses his dad the most.

Eventually, he opens the door and steps out, giving Baby a pat before stepping up to the door of the little limestone house. The windows are trimmed with green, and warm yellow light shines in the window through the curtains.

He rings the doorbell, running one hand through his hair and adjusting his tie.

The door opens, and a woman steps out of the house. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a ponytail and her hazel eyes are crinkled at the edges in confusion.

"May I help you, sir?" she asks.

"Hello, are you Emma Williams? I'm with the police station and would like to ask you a few questions about your cousin," he says, flashing his badge.

"Sir... It's Thanksgiving," she says.

"Police work doesn't stop for holidays," he responds.

Emma looks at the man for a moment, and suddenly her heart goes out to him. His face is pale and his eyes are dull. He looks like he hasn't slept properly for days.

"Do you have any family you should be with?" she asks gently.

"I..." Dean doesn't quite know how to respond, swallowing and looking down at his polished shoes. "Kind of."

"What do you mean 'kind of'?" she asks him.

"I have a little brother... It's just us left. And I love him. But... after all that's happened lately, it's hard to just sit down and talk to him, you know?" Dean stops himself from speaking, realizing that he has said too much.

"Go... Be with your brother... I know it may be hard, but he loves you and is only trying to help," Emma responds with a smile. "You can always get back to work later. If your boss asks, just tell him I wasn't here."

"Thank you," Dean says to her. "You... Thank you..."

"No problem," she says, stepping inside the house and shuting the door behind her. He stands, staring at the green paint for a second.

He turns and walks back to his baby. He has to get back to Sam so he can make it up to him.

XXX

He can't get the motel lock open. He jiggles the key, pushing the door with his shoulder, but it doesn't budge.

"Sam! I can't get the door open... Come here and let me in!" he calls.

"One second, Dean!" Sam's voice is muffled and he hears a crash.

"Sam, are you okay?" Dean feels his heart jump in his chest. There is no answer. "Sammy, let me in!"

Dean weighs his options. He could break down the door, but first he needs a weapon. He turns back to head to the car, but there is the sound of the lock clicking and he stops.

"Sorry, had my hands full," Sam says. "Come on in."

He is pulling a chair away from the door.

"Sam, did you bar the door?" Dean asks.

"I... no..." Sam says.

"Sam, you know I can tell when you lie. Don't even try to lie to me," Dean says, locking the motel door behind him.

"Why would you..." Dean stops in his tracks, reaching the little motel coffee table. He can't speak for a moment.

Two plates piled with food sit on the coffee table, accompanied by two cold beers.

"How...?"

Sam is grinning, sitting down on the couch and grabbing one plate of food. "I picked it up at the store down the street... It's nothing special... just a little turkey loaf and a couple of microwavable boxes of food. Oh..."

Sam sets his plate down and shuffles through the little pile of grocery bags. He pulls out a box and places it on the table.

"I got pie too," Sam comments.

Dean stands there in silence, and Sam is afraid the older man will bolt.

"Come on then," Sam says nervously. "Sit down."

To his relief, Dean complies, sinking down to the couch and picking up his plate.

He wants to tell Sam how much this means to him. He wants to tell Sammy how much he has helped him after Dad's death, after everything in his world fell apart. He wants to tell his little brother that no one has ever done this for him before, but he can't say any of it.

"Thank you, Sammy..." he says softly. "Thanks for..." He looks away, his eyes burning.

Sam knows exactly what his brother means.

"It's no problem, Dean. Anything for you."

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><p><strong>AN: There we are... I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving!**

**This little story just would not get out of my head throughout the day, so I of course, had to post it... I hope you liked it. **

**Anyways, thank you for reading. Please leave me a review and tell me what you thought. :)**

**-Dawn**


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